On Money and Fear


“Stop thinking about money!”
~ the voice of my God

I.
I am the blindfolded woman
and two arrows have pierced my heart
in spite of my charms and incantations against love.

I have been wrapped up in my own heartbreak leaving me blind.

I have been trying to weigh inspiration against money,
a feather against gold – one heavy one light.

I have been a slave to what is bled
from rocks over millenia at such toil and cost,
ignoring what is easily shed, fletched, lifted by a breath.

You are the archer and as always Your arrows strike true.

II.
What is it I fear? Hunger? Having no home?

I do not think I could sit and beg but would rather walk,
homeless, foodless, until I could walk no longer,
lie down and die, be back with You.

III.
When I think of my worst fear it is fear of madness –

I am looking into a round tunnel without a train
but just a whistling train track
rushing through it,

the dance of limbs
on the platforms belonging
to no-one, not to people, to robots, or to spirits.

That the whole journey of life is nothing but meaninglessness.

IV.
I think of my longstanding fear of falling apart.

I recall my vision of a knight riding forth,
the plates of his armour rusting,
his flesh starting to decay,
falling from his limbs,

the skeletal man
falling from his skeletal horse

but his horse going on to where the bones
of all horses crumble and the dust of dead horses
is borne on the winds to where You ride Lord of Annwn.

You taste the wind, lick Your forefinger, another failed quest.

Your hounds prowl and sniff at the dust and Your pale horse rolls in it.

IV.
Yet I have chosen to collect feathers not gold
for the birds are giving and we are nothing but birds
who are learning how to fly and to empty out our pockets.

I want to be light, my lord, to depart from lands where scales exist.

To where we no longer need to weigh, measure, measure up.
To where You tear my blindfold off and show me
the truths that lie in my unbroken heart.

Half Moon and the Holly King

Half moon over Greencroft ValleyHalf bitten moon cries a waning scream.
Her severed pieces are brought by the stream
to the cavernous lair of the holly king
who grinds his axe on a sharpening stone
and prepares his block for the gore of heroes.

Silent and pensive he waits in his cave.
The moon arrives and his blood red eyes
are filled with silver swimming.
Outside the blackbirds sing
a song which knows no kenning.

The half formed moon describes her sorrows.
The king laments his lack of heroes-
vision waned and bravery gone.
Blackbirds sing their endless song
of an empty sky and bloodstained block…

then as hope elides a knight of dawn
approaches on a starless horse
with fire-lit eyes and maenad’s locks.
She boldly casts her gauntlet down
at the feet of the holly king.

The half formed moon departs from his arms.
He performs his task with an aura of calm.
The blackbirds watch in silence.
Then moon and lair are gone.
Dawn rides free, afraid, yet unharmed.

Holly, Greencroft Valley